<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Someone's First by thatonedimstar</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188727">Someone's First</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonedimstar/pseuds/thatonedimstar'>thatonedimstar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cassian - Freeform, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Nessian - Freeform, POV Nesta Archeron, Trauma, nesta - Freeform, text au, texting au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:21:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonedimstar/pseuds/thatonedimstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>*Permanent Hiatus*</p><p>Cassian gets the wrong number from a girl at the bar and a strange, unconventional friendship blooms with the person on the other end. Though, as time goes on, it seems that something more is starting to grow between them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nesta Archeron/Cassian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>230</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Cassian: Italics<br/>Nesta: Normal</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day One</h2>
<p>
  <em> (2:54) Hello ;) I was thinking we could go for drinks. You looked pretty good at the bar back there. </em>
</p>
<p>(3:01) Wrong number.</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:02) Ah </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:02) Well. The offer still stands, if you’re up for it. </em>
</p>
<p>(3:07) A definite no. You used a winky face. That’s an instant turn-off. </p>
<p>(3:08) I bet whoever gave you their number purposely gave you the wrong one. </p>
<p>
  <em> (3:09) Oof. You didn’t have to go that hard. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:14) What are you doing up at this hour, anyway? </em>
</p>
<p>(3:21) What normal people do at three in the morning: work.</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:22) I wouldn’t say that’s exactly what normal people do.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:23) For example, I’m very normal, and I’m up at three speaking to an absolute stranger while lounging in my bathtub.  </em>
</p>
<p>(3:49) That’s not normal.</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:50) Says the woman (You’re a woman, right?) who is texting on the job. </em>
</p>
<p>(3:53) My job hardly requires my full attention. Plus, there’s no supervisor here to tell me off.</p>
<p>
  <em> (3:55) So you’re a woman, then? </em>
</p>
<p>(4:23) Yes.</p>
<p>
  <em> (4:26) Why are you taking so long to answer? </em>
</p>
<p>(4:27) Why are you up at four in the morning, asking someone who’s actually working, who has ten million better things to do, why they’re taking so long to answer?</p>
<p>
  <em> (4:29) Good point. I’ll talk to you later. </em>
</p>
<p>(4:34) You better not.</p>
<p>
  <em> (4:37) Is that a threat? </em>
</p>
<p>(4:48) Yes. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (11:04) Honestly, I’m interested to see how you’ll carry through with that threat. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (11:04) For that reason and that reason alone: </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (11:05 ;) </em>
</p>
<p>(12:15) Fuck you.</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:15) That-- </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:16) That was perfect. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:19) Marry me. </em>
</p>
<p>(12:23) Fuck. You.</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:24) Yes, why don’t YOU fuck ME? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:37) All right. All right. I have to admit, that was a bit much. </em>
</p>
<p>(12:39) A bit?</p>
<p>(12:39) I nearly vomited.</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:42) I’m glad to know that I could evoke such an emotion from you. </em>
</p>
<p>(12:44) What’s wrong with you?</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:45) Too many things to count. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:45) So when did your shift end? </em>
</p>
<p>(12:47) 7</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:48) Graveyard shift? </em>
</p>
<p>(12:49) Sorta. </p>
<p>(12:50) I work from 3-7 part-time. Then 8-12 part-time. </p>
<p>
  <em> (12:52) Wow. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:52) Do you ever have time to party? Go to bars? </em>
</p>
<p>(12:53) Yes.</p>
<p>(12:53) It’s called day drinking.</p>
<p>(12:54) I’m sure that you, as a frat boy, know what that is.</p>
<p>(12:54) Unless I’m overestimating your smarts, and you’re actually too stupid to even get into college.</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:47) I… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:47) I don’t know what to say. </em>
</p>
<p>(12:48) Take your time. I’m sure that you and your very, very small brain will need it.</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:51) I’m going to address those statements in order. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:52) One: Day drinking isn’t always the healthiest, but when your day starts at 2am, I can’t really judge. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:52) Two: I’m not a frat boy.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (12:53) Three: I graduated from college a year ago. With a physical education degree. And now I own a gym. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:01) I know. It’s so impressive that it’s left you speechless. </em>
</p>
<p>(13:06) No, I was just taking a moment away from your bullshit to have a shower.</p>
<p><em>(13:06)</em> <em>Did you think of me?</em></p>
<p>(13:09) You’re a frat boy.</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:10) I told you: I’m not. I’m not even in college. </em>
</p>
<p>(13:11) You’re still a frat boy.</p>
<p>(13:12) Example one: You got the wrong number off some chick at a bar.</p>
<p>(13:12) Example two: You have a physical education degree.</p>
<p>(13:13) Example three: You own a gym.</p>
<p>(13:13) Example four: You think that you’re the absolute shit.</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:14) Well. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:14) Okay. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:15) All of that is true. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:15) But </em>
</p>
<p>(13:16) There’s no but.</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:16) I’m a finely respected businessman. </em>
</p>
<p>(13:19) See example four.</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:23) Shit. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> (13:24) We’ve known each other for less than 12 hours, yet you seem to have me all figured out. </em>
</p>
<p>(13:29) I’m turning my phone off now. If I turn it on to find a message from you, I’m gonna block your number.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cassian: Italics<br/>Nesta: Normal</p>
<p>----------------</p>
<p>Warning: There are some mentions of sexual assault.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Two</h2>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:03) I do hope you’ve turned your phone back on and you’re not a complete monster that lives most of your life with your phone shut off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:23) Don’t you have a life?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:24) Yes, but I’m in between clients right now and all my friends are gone at this business convention. Eating breakfast with other business executives. Talking about business things with business people.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:26) See, you’re a frat boy that they’re leaving back at home. Too young to make it with the big guys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:27) I’ll have you know that the only reason I’m not there is because I’m busy here working.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:27) Then why are you on your phone if you’re working?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:28) Like I said: I’m in between clients.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:28) The next one doesn’t come in until eight.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:29) Do you have any friends?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:30) I have a boyfriend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:31) Ooh, what’s his name? I’ll do a background search on him. Figure out if he’s got any shady stuff on his record.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:32) Wait… you can do that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:32) Okay. Not me. My friend. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:33) So, tell me. What’s his name?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:35) Just so that I can make sure he’s not some murderer intending on taking you and selling you off somewhere.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:37) Is this you trying to flirt?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:38) Oh no. You’d know if I were flirting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:39) This is me just looking out for the absolute stranger I’m texting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:42) Only if you promise to leave me alone after I tell you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:42) Promise.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:43) Fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(7:43) His name’s Tomas Madray.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:44) I’ll update you when I learn if he’s a psycho or not.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:14) I know you don’t know a thing about me. You can’t trust me. But, please, I’m begging you, take what I’m saying with a 100% seriousness.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:17) My friend, after I told him your boyfriend’s name, took some time out of his day to research it. Look under all the registry lists. Both public and private. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:18) He came across some… disturbing things.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:23) Tomas Mandray, according to the records that he has access to, spent two years in prison for sexual assault. He got out a little over a year ago. There’s no other information on the case, but I thought that you should know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:26) Be careful.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(2:04) No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(2:05) That’s a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(2:05) He’s a good man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(2:06) He pays for every meal. Opens doors for me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(2:06) There’s no way that he would even think about doing something so disgusting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(2:08) All right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(2:09) Just… think about it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(2:10) Whatever.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really didn't think this would get this popular. Thank you everyone for reading! As long as I enjoy writing this I hope that all of you will enjoy reading it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Four</h2><p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:57) Did you miss me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:58) I know your life must’ve been boring without me to interrupt the monotony of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:07) Don’t you have better things to do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:07) Like talking to your friends?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:08) Reading a book, maybe? Though I’m sure you’ve never touched one in your whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:09) Again: I went to college.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:10) I’m actually on my way to meet up with my friends for lunch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:11) What about you? What are you doing this fine noon-hour? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:11) Don’t ever say noon-hour again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:13) I’m grocery shopping since I can’t afford to go out for lunch at an undoubtedly very high-class place that your fancy friends are going to.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:14) We’re going to McDonald’s, actually.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:14) I told them we shouldn’t, but they wouldn’t listen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:15) “I don’t want to sit at another table with a white tablecloth and real silver cutlery. I want that plastic stuff.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:16) So, McDonald’s it is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:21) Your friends seem interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:22) That’s an understatement.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:22) There’s always some sort of argument when we all meet up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:23) I’m just hoping that the convention wore them out enough that I can enjoy my fries in peace.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:24) Although it will be fun to see how the workers react.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:24) All of us in our fancy business suits, arguing over our one dollar drinks and warring over who gets to sit where.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:25) Well, all of them in their business suits. I’m just wearing jeans and a shirt. Far more fitting for the McDonald environment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:26) Maybe I should get my suit on, though. Make more of a spectacle. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:31) I can’t believe people like you exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:32) I can’t believe people like your friends exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:32) They’re business execs. Couldn’t they just Uber McDonalds or something? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) In theory.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) But that’s not dramatic enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) It doesn’t have any flair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:35) Flair...?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:39) Yes. Flair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:40) What’s life without a healthy bit of flair?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:41) A normal one.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:46) Wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:47) Excuse me?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:51) A life without flair is a boring one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:51) It’s without meaning.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:52) People can find meaning in life outside of flair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:52) Like art.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:09) Flair is an art, sweetheart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(13:10) Don’t. Call. Me. That.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:11) I just choked on my burger.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:11) Everyone’s staring at me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:12) They’re asking me what happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(13:12) I’m sure they’re amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:13) Somehow, I can hear your sarcasm. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(13:14) Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:17) Talk to you later, sweetheart. It seems that we’re now all going to play some billiards. I have no choice but to join.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(13:21) Fuck you.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm currently on a road trip, though I should be back home in a couple of days. Please be patient, since I don't have much time to write or post until I get back.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Five</h2><p>
  <span>(6:09) Is billiards even a thing anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(6:10) I mean, I’ve seen the advertisements. But really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(6:10) Billiards?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(6:59) Yes, it’s a thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:00) Those billiard places have two demographics: young college students and rich business people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:02) I happen to fit into the latter one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:02) Hmm</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:21) What does that mean?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:22) I suppose I’m just not the type for billiards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:23) I’ve never been to college, and I’m never going to be a rich business person. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:25) You didn’t go to college?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:28) Nope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:28) I don’t have the money for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:29) And loans aren’t my thing. Especially not student loans that’ll be eating at me until the day I die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:31) The work I do is just enough to get me by in life. I can’t imagine having to pay off a loan and have to study and go to classes along with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:32) Fair enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:33) I’m really lucky with how successful my gym is and how fast it built up a clientele. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:35) Prime location, perfect timing. With all the fitness trends online. Veganism. Cleansing juices. Self-defence classes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:35) Of course, my looks probably have something to do with the popularity, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:38) You teach self-defence classes?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:40) Three times a week. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:42) Considering that your boyfriend, Tomas Mandray, lives in the same city as I do, one would assume that you live here, too. So if you’re ever in need of self-defence classes or a gym to go to, just let me know and I’ll give you the address.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:43) You don’t have the right to speak about my boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(7:44) Especially not with the horrid things you accused him of.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:47) Right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:47) Of course.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:48) That’s valid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(7:52) Have a good shift.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(10:37) It just occurred to me. I have no idea what your name is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:04) So?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:07) So? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:07) I’d like to know the name of the person I’m talking to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:08) I won’t give you my name if you won’t give me yours.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:09) Smart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:09) I’m Cassian.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:11) Nesta.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:12) Now I can save you in my phone as something other than “Wrong Number Person.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:13) You have my number saved into your phone?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:15) You don’t have mine?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:16) No</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:16) Why would I?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:19) I’m wounded, sweetheart. I thought we were closer than this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:20) We’ve had plenty of conversations.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:22) I deserve a “Hot Wrong Number Man” or “Muscle Dude.” I’ll even settle for “Gym Owner Guy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:26) I hate you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:26) Only eight conversations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:26) That hardly means you deserve to be saved into my phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:27) If I'm not good enough to be saved into your phone, then who is?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:27) Your parents?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:30) Definitely not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:30) My mother’s dead and my father’s nonexistent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:30) The only people saved into my phone are my sisters and my boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:33) Sorry for your loss. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:33) Wait, you have sisters?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) Now we’re getting somewhere.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) How many?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:43) Two younger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:44) Speaking of which, my youngest sister has this engagement party thing that I have to go to tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:44) I have no choice but to go meet her fiance.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:49) You’ve never met them?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:50) No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:51) With my busy schedule and her busy schedule, doubled with her fiance’s busy days, there was just never any time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:52) Good luck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:53) I’ll need it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm thinking that, at a reasonable point, I should shift from this text-form to actual writing. I'm wondering what you all think about that, because if you guys don't like the idea of it, I can figure out how to continue on further with this text-form while keeping a good story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Six</h2><p>
  <span>(21:49) He’s a bastard.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(21:52) Yes. He is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(21:54) Who did what, exactly?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(21:55) My sister’s fiance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(21:55) He’s worse than bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(21:56) He’s just… not right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(21:56) You probably know him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(21:57) He’s one of those fancy, rich business douches. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(21:59) I know plenty of business douches.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:00) You have to be more specific.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:01) I’m not giving you his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:01) Why not?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:02) I can’t trash on him without knowing who I’m trashing on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:03) I’m not giving you another way to figure out who I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:04) You can try, sweetheart, but I’m already asking one of my friends which one of our business friends—or enemies—had an engagement party tonight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:07) You try far too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:07) Yet you don’t do anything at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:08) Making your friends do all the work?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:08) That’s plain lazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:09) It’s called networking.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:09) They teach it to you in business school.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:10) I still think it’s lazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:12) Too bad, because now I know exactly who you are:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:12) Nesta Archeron, Feyre Archeron’s--Tamlin, the CEO of Spring Corps’ fiance--oldest sister.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:13) Am I right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:13) I could be wrong, but Tamlin is a super business douche.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:14) The trashiest of trash.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:14) Even old stinky, half-molded gym socks would be disgusted by him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:14) I’m surprised he’s the CEO of some business and not a trash collector, working on minimum wage.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:17) I work on minimum wage.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:17) But you don’t collect trash, do you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:19) Of course not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:19) I’d never lower myself to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:19) My work is far more enjoyable.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:20) What do you do, then?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:22) You know my sister, her fiance, my last name. I’m sure you could figure out where I live and where I work if you really wanted to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:22) Why should I tell you when you can find it out yourself?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:23) Because I want to hear it from you, Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:23) Plus, I’m lazy, as you pointed out earlier. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:24) My friends are starting to get suspicious of me, as well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:24) If I ask them to figure out where you work and where you live, they’ll cut me off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:24) Or, they’ll try to knock some sense into me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:25) Shove me into a van and send me to one of those two-month-long business retreats where I have to shit in a bush and wash in a river.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:26) Then, to make sure I’ve completely returned to my senses, they’ll throw me into the sea and see if I remember how to swim.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:32) Okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:33) In the morning, my 3-7 is at a library. I sort the books and organize the bookshelves. I’m out by the time the day people arrive, so it’s a very quiet, solitary thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:34) For the 8-12, I work at a cafe. I’d drop that job right this instant if I could find somewhere else that gives me the same hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:34) So you like working at the library?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:41) Yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:41) I can work at my own pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:41) As long as I get all the books back on the shelves, signed in and organized, by seven, they don’t care how I do it, or how many breaks I take.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:42) So, from what I understand, you’d rather be the boss than the subordinate?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:42) Doesn’t everyone?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:42) Surprisingly, no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:43) Some people like the order and control of working underneath someone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:43) Not me, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:43) I love owning my own business.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:45) You can really bring everything back to yourself, can’t you?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:46) I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just think that everyone deserves to know about all my successes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:46) I’m half-tempted to block you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:47) Please don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:47) Is that begging I hear?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:47) It’s so faint that maybe I mistook the pathetic sound for something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(22:48) I certainly didn’t hear you begging for me to not block you over the sound of your overzealous gloating, so I might as well go ahead and block you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:48) I’m hardly gloating.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:51) You want me to beg, Nesta Archeron?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:51) Then I’ll beg.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:51) Don’t you dare send whatever it is you’re typing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:51) Then I’ll block you for real.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:52) Oh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(12:55) I’m getting in the shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:59) To cool down?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:00) Because I could only imagine what you thought I was going to send you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(13:16) How do your friends even tolerate you?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(13:16) I have no idea.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter updates may be slow since this story is sort of a fun side-project. I write this whenever I'm just sitting around with nothing to do. It's casual, and because of that, I'm not writing 3k words a day like I do with most my other projects. Hopefully, that means that I can stick with this one until the end, though it does mean slower updates.</p><p>With that being said, I hope all of you really enjoy this! Because I sure love writing it and rereading what I've already written. Not to mention how excited I get whenever I get a comment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Seven</h2><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:17) How’s it going?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(12:18) Was there any idiotic customers you had to deal with today?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<h2>Day Eight</h2><p> </p><p>
  <span>(4:01) I’m thinking about quitting my cafe job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(4:02) They gave me an extra shift yesterday and they’re expecting me to pick up an extra shift yet again today. I asked if they could give it to someone else, but they refused. Saying they’d fire me if I didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(4:02) Feyre’s not answering her phone. Text or call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(4:03) Tomas is nagging me about going on a date or meeting up at my apartment. He doesn’t care that I literally don’t have any time. And the time that I do have, I need to do the every day necessary things. Like eating and showering and sleeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:36) All right, so my advice is that you dump your boyfriend, quit your job at the cafe, and move in with me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:37) I’m being serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:37) I am, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:38) I have two spare bedrooms in my apartment. Both of them guest rooms. Both of them open to use, if you need somewhere to stay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:38) As I’ve stated before, I think your boyfriend is a horrible person.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:39) Plus, any establishment that manipulates their workers like that is not one worth working for.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:40) Tomas may be getting on my nerves, but that doesn’t mean he’s a horrible person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:41) Wait--where about is your apartment?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:42) Downtown, why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:42) You must be really, really rich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:43) I bet you sleep in a bed filled with feathers underneath a silk damask coverlet with a wall of windows at the foot of your bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:43) Silk damask? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:43) Being a poor pleb that never went to college doesn't automatically make me an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:44) I never said you were.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:44) I’m just surprised because it’s true.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:45) Though, if you must know, my whole apartment, including the two guest rooms, have an amazing view of Main Street and the river running by it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(4:45) I’m not moving in with you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:46) Why not?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:46) Scared that you’d like it too much?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(4:46) That we’d have too much fun?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:47) No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:47) It’s because you’re a complete stranger that has, so far, shown stalker tendencies. Who has enough money to probably pay off any police department, my family, and my boyfriend to forget of my existence as you smuggle me somewhere to undoubtedly sell me to some billionaire.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:49) I’d be insulted, but I find it hard to be when you’re simply being cautious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(5:50) I’m using common sense. You should try it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(5:51) Maybe one day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(6:23) Keep me updated if you dump your boyfriend, if you quit your job or get fired, or if your sister remains to ignore you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Ten</h2>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:13) I just ran into Feyre. She’s good, healthy, alive. Just thought you should know, in case she hasn’t texted you back yet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:21) Okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:21) I just quit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:21) They expected me to take yet another extra shift, and I just can’t do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:23) Good for you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:24) If you need a job, tell me, and I can pull some strings to get you in somewhere.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:37) I don’t have a business degree or anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:38) Still, there are strings I can pull.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:38) Especially if I mention you’re Feyre’s older sister. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:39) That matters over here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:39) Why? Because she’s some CEO’s wife-to-be?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:40) No, because she’s one of my friend’s good friends. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:41) According to that, you’re practically family. Any one of us in our friend group would hire you, if you proved to have a good work ethic and a willingness to learn.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:42) We’ll see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:42) They’ll give me my last paycheque soon, so I’ll have enough to pay rent. If I stretch my money and take some from my savings, I can meet rent for about 4 months.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(11:43) I can’t lose this apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(11:46) I’ll make sure that you don't. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:07) Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:07) Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:07) Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:07) Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:08) Shut up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:08) Nesta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:09) Are you drunk?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:12) Maybe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:13) Pathetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:13) It’s Sunday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:13) Don’t you have work in the morning?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:15) No</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:15) Day off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(22:16) It’s my day off, too, so you better leave me alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:16) Come onnnnnnnnn</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:16) That’s no fun.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:18) Hello, this is Cassian’s most delightful friend. He’s about to fall face-first into a puddle of what might be water or piss. I’m so sorry that this idiot drunkard has bothered you this evening. He won’t get his phone back until the morning when he’s sobered up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(22:18) Have a good night!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know you guys will love the next chapter. Or hate it, depending on how well I actually wrote it. I might even post it tomorrow if you guys really want it. (I know I'm being really cryptic, but I love it.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nesta: Normal<br/>Cassian: Italics</p>
<p>---------</p>
<p>I'm so excited for all of you to read this chapter. Be ready.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Eleven</h2>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:21) Wow</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:21) Sorry about last night.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:22) I was sleeping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:22) You woke me up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:22) Again, I’m so sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:23) And thanks to my “most delightful friend” I now look like an absolute fool.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:24) You were always a fool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:24) Now you’re just a crazy drunk one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:25) I’m glad to know that your opinion of me hasn’t lowered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:26) It was never high in the first place. There’s not much room to fall when you’re already at the bottom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(9:29) I practically asked for that one, didn’t I?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(9:29) Yep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>11:57</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta got the text from Feyre just as she was getting out of the shower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s this cafe that’s a ten minute walk from work. Want to meet up for lunch? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, she didn’t know what to do. Feyre hadn’t answered any of the texts she’d sent over the last four days, and now she wanted to go out for lunch. There was never an in-between with her. She either hated Nesta’s guts and wanted nothing to do with her or she wanted to spend every hour of every day with her to try and rekindle their sisterly relationship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was annoying. More so when those mood swings never matched up with Nesta’s own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she wanted to get to know Feyre, be the bigger sister that she should’ve always been, she was pushed away. When she wanted to lock herself in her apartment and cut everyone off, Feyre wanted Nesta to step up. Be there for her. Be a big sister. Stop being an icy bitch that cares for no one but herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was this, wanting to go out for lunch, another attempt that Feyre was making to repair their rift-filled relationship? Honestly, Nesta wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be or not. She certainly wanted nothing to do with Feyre’s douche bag of a fiance, and Feyre seemed to be glued to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the engagement party, Feyre had only left his side once. To go to the bathroom. The rest of the time, she was right next to him, like one of those medieval women who were their man’s property. Dressed in one of the most expensive dresses Nesta had ever seen, draped in so many glittering jewels that it was a wonder she was able to move at all. Not to mention the fact that her fiance, Tamlin, had been all over her. Constantly. Kissing and fondling her so much that it felt like Nesta, the one who had been invited to the hotel ballroom, was overstepping some sort of boundary. Like she was encroaching on something private.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it were up to Nesta, Feyre wouldn’t be in that relationship. But she knew it wasn’t up to her. She couldn’t even advise Feyre on stepping away for a moment to make sure that marrying this Tamlin was something that she really, truly wanted. They weren’t close enough for Feyre to see it as genuine concern. She would instead take it as an attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe, if Nesta agreed to go, if they talked for a bit, Feyre might listen to her. Or at least see the truth of her intentions. And that was all she could ask for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could talk herself out of it, Nesta texted Feyre, notifying her that she would go to lunch with her. Then she asked for the address, and nearly dropped her phone when the link came through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, she knew that Feyre was marrying into money. She knew that Feyre lived downtown, with douche-bag Tamlin in some two-floor penthouse with a pool. Or something just as obnoxious as that. But she hadn’t been expecting the cheapest drink to be eight dollars. The cheapest snack ten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre had that kind of money, but Nesta didn’t. Especially not after she quit her job at the cafe that was merely two blocks away from her apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She already agreed to go. She couldn’t go back on her word now, no matter how much she wanted to. Feyre would never ask her to do anything again. That might be worse than not having any extra spending money.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta shut her phone off and threw it onto her bed before she got dressed. She didn’t take any extra time to do anything with her hair or put on any makeup. Even if she did, it wouldn’t come anywhere close to the extravagant things that Feyre was undoubtedly wearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gathered her phone, keys, and purse before she left her apartment. When she got to the main floor, she went straight outside and ran across the busy road to the garage where her car was parked. Then she was on the road, thankful for the lack of traffic. The way downtown was full of twisting roads, a multitude of useless traffic lights, even more idiots who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a steering wheel, and was over in about fifteen minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the only parking was a good six blocks away from the cafe and ten dollars for one hour. Then there was all the expensive cars parked alongside hers. Ones that had to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Ones that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t want to accidentally scratch. They made her six-year-old sedan that was honestly in good condition look like trash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed and stepped away from her car. She locked it and dropped her keys into her purse despite the fact that she knew no one would try to steal it or break into it with the fortune surrounding it. She had to at least pretend that she wasn’t completely out of her depth here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought that once she got outside, it would all get better, but it only got worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every person she passed was either dressed in expensive thousand-dollar suits or wearing clothes that had to be worth at least three hundred dollars, if not more. And here she was, wearing clothes from the clearance section of Walmart. While she did have skills in making any piece of clothing look like she got it from some high-end store, she just felt… Trashy. Poor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t let any of that bug her now, though. Feyre wanted to see her. After, once Nesta got home, she could spend a good hour or two stewing in her own sorrow. Maybe Cassian would text her, like he seemed to do every single day, and she could forget about the way her life had turned to absolute shit recently. Give her a break before Tomas undoubtedly showed up at her apartment, demanding that they spend </span>
  <em>
    <span>time</span>
  </em>
  <span> together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before that train of thought could run wild, Nesta reached the cafe. It was small, positioned on the corner of a busy street. A few tables were set up outside. All of them filled with more of those fancy-dressed men and women. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta stepped through the wide-open doors, grateful to be out of the bright glare of the sun. That gratefulness fell away instantly, replaced by a crushing feeling of suffocation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was so, so many people. All of them far too dressed up and fancy. All of them standing around, tapping away on their thousand-dollar phones. A few of them that sat at the tables scattered across the room typed away on five-thousand-dollar computers as if they weren’t afraid that the coffee sitting precariously close to their hands would spill, ruining it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of them paid any attention to her, but she could feel their judgement pressing down on her. She knew that if they merely looked at her closely or saw her bank balance, they would shun her. Throw her out on the streets. Bar her from entering their ritzy, over-priced cafe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she had to act as if she had a right to be here. Because she did have one. She was here to see her sister. This was public property, and she wouldn’t let them intimidate her. She had as much of a right to be here as the rest of them did, even if she couldn’t afford a damn thing on the menu.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nesta,” a voice beckoned</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>Feyre. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood up from where she’d been sitting in the back of the shop and waved Nesta over, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to smile. Especially not with the way heads turned in her direction as she crossed the packed room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The only thing that she could do was hold her head up high and keep her shoulders pushed back. Show them that she didn’t give a shit about what they thought. Act like she was above all of this. Like they were the outsiders, not her. Like she belonged here and never, for a moment, had to question it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were running a bit late,” Feyre continued once Nesta was close enough, “so I bought you a coffee and this cake brownie thing. I had one. It was good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta looked at the coffee and small chocolate cake sitting on the porcelain plate. Relief sluiced through her. Tension released from her shoulders. She only let them drop for a moment before she pushed them back. Not even her insurmountable relief could make her drop the facade she had so carefully built on the walk over to this table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now she wouldn’t have to go through the humiliating experience of ordering something far above her budget. It would be fine. She could focus on Feyre. Tell her to have a break. Then she could go home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta sat down and Feyre slid into the chair across from her. Their silence was nearly palpable through the chatter and clinking dishes surrounding them. Any other time, it would’ve been deafening. But here, in their little bubble of tense air, it was as if nothing but this awkward, droning silence existed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta hadn’t intended it to come out so cold. Nor did she intend it to hurt Feyre in the way it did. She didn’t want to hurt her baby sister. Cause that smile to fall away and that tentative joy sparkling in her eyes to dim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d wanted to come here and mend their broken relationship, not make it worse. Somehow, that was all Nesta was good at: making things worse. Everything she touched seemed to break. Apparently, Feyre wasn’t an exception. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She never should’ve come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to say sorry for not texting or calling you back,” Feyre said. Nesta had to admire her sister’s resilience for being able to continue on despite the emotions weighing down her shoulders. “Tamlin and I have been really busy planning for the wedding, and I suppose time just kind of slipped away from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta rested her hands on the table and looked down at her lap. She made herself breathe deeply and slowly. Made herself count them as they came in and went out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a date planned?” Nesta asked, hating the way her voice constricted with restrained anger. She hated it even more when she saw the way Feyre’s whole expression darkened. As if Nesta were mocking her. Which she wasn’t. She simply wanted to make some small talk so that she could centre herself. Not… this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Feyre admitted, her voice turning thick with tears. Nesta reached for the coffee, just so that she had something to do with her hands. So that she didn’t get up and leave. “It’s in a month. May sixteenth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta brought the cup of coffee up to her lips and let the luke-warm liquid wash away any retort she might’ve spat out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One month. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One month</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sure, people got married quickly all the time. But Feyre was a young intern and Tamlin was a douche bag CEO in his early thirties. There was a lot of room there for manipulation. A lot of room for Tamlin to take advantage of her and push her into a marriage that she didn’t actually want.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, she couldn’t tell Feyre this. She wouldn’t take the advice. Maybe, before this meeting had turned into this downward spiral, she might have at least listened. Now, she would probably storm out and demand that Nesta pay her for the obnoxiously expensive coffee she’d practically chugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations.” This time, thankfully, all of her emotions managed to stay away from her voice. Though that still didn’t make it sound any more genuine. Actually, it probably made it all worse. With her monotone, expressionless voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite that, Feyre still smiled. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked genuinely happy. The soft smile on her lips and the glittering in her blue eyes proved that her mind had drifted back to some happier, more content time. It certainly didn’t come from what Nesta had said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feyre.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta stiffened at the sound of someone calling out her sister’s name. A protective nature she didn’t know she had shot up, making her hard features harden even more. Feyre’s smile dropped, but the glitter in her eyes didn’t disappear. Not even as her eyes landed on the man who had called her name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre rose from her chair to greet whoever it was and Nesta merely dropped her chin to her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weren’t you supposed to go to lunch with Tamlin?” the man asked, his smooth voice riding along Nesta’s bones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “His meeting ran long, so I decided to invite my sister to lunch.” A pause, then, “Cassian, this is my oldest sister, Nesta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta wanted to melt through the floor. And if she couldn’t do that, she’d get up and leave, just like she walked in here: not looking at anyone in the eyes, holding herself high, and fast. She’d leave here so fast that there would be absolutely no chance of anyone, including </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cassian</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stopping her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though she enjoyed their conversations</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>looked forward to them, even, and the break from life they gave her</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>she hadn’t been expecting to actually see him. Ever. And part of her still didn’t want to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was good as a faceless person she texted practically every day. Not someone who she could actually see and speak to in person. What if he was just as annoying in person as he was online? </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if he wasn’t?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t even let herself contemplate the latter thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nesta,” Feyre pleaded. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>her baby sister, begging her not to be a pain in the ass; to, for once, comply and be cordial</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>made her push to her feet. Maybe this would help mend the gaping rift between them. Then she could block Cassian and go on with her life as if this had never happened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out of all the things Cassian had expected to happen today, meeting Nesta Archeron had not been on that list. But he wouldn’t complain. Couldn’t, actually, with the icy stare that she settled onto him. Just as biting, if not more so, than all the messages she had sent him. Not even his dull, throbbing headache from all the drinks he’d had last night could ruin this moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked him up and down, not even trying to hide her assessing stare. He stood still and let her, thankful for the time it gave him to see the woman that he’d been texting for the last week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, she seemed to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fit</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. Around all these business people. Some of them who he had called colleagues once. Some of them who he still did. The clothes she wore</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>a loose white blouse tucked into light blue jeans, accented with a singular golden pendant</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>didn’t exactly match everyone else’s. Not with the formality, nor with the riches that everyone else liked to put into their appearance. But he’d be lying if she didn’t own every bit of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw the way everyone glanced at her. Through their eyelashes. Around a laptop. Past a mug of coffee. Though never with any scorn. Always with a sense of awe or admiration in the way that she somehow managed to command the room just by standing there. Able to draw every eye without moving a muscle. A quality revered amongst business people. One that normally marked the next big salesperson or flagged someone as competition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta took a step forward and extended a hand, snapping Cassian out of his thoughts. “It’s nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was how she wanted to deal with all of this. Act as if they hadn’t been exchanging messages for the last week. As if he hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk texted</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. Something that he’d never done before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, Mor had been there to save him before he said something really stupid. Like asking her to go out for coffee to meet her, like he’d been aching to do for the last couple of days. Though he was sure he’d never hear the end of it. Mor had already texted him two times today and called him once, asking him who the person saved into his phone as “Sweetheart” was. Something he had also done in a very drunk moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a pause where Nesta’s lips pulled down, her eyes darting to Feyre who looked between the two of them, a confused expression flitting across her face, Cassian reached forward and shook Nesta’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Nesta was playing along like this for Feyre, then he would too. He doubted that Feyre, out of all people, needed any more confusion in her life right now. Even if that made this difficult for him. All he wanted to do was talk to Nesta like they had been over text. Easily. Comfortably. Without any awkwardness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, if this was what she wanted, this was what would happen. He couldn’t have a one-sided conversation, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said, his smile growing when Nesta’s frown faltered for a moment before it returned. Nesta’s phone rang from inside her purse where it sat on the floor, resting against the table leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta looked over to her purse, her gaze sharpening as if she could will the thing to silence. But, after a moment, she picked up her purse and dug around for her phone, the many other things hidden in there rustling against each other. She didn’t even look around or offer any apologies as she brought it up to her ear and answered with a sharp, “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre gave him an apologetic smile that might’ve been a wince. She stepped to his side, casting a glance around her before she took time to speak. “Sorry about her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger flared inside him at the hesitant glance. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed, but it was impossible not to. The way she looked to see if that pile of shit she called a fiance was around or if one of his employees was trailing after her. As Rhysand had told him, anyone from Spring Corp. was forbidden to speak to anyone from Night Industries. Especially Feyre, Tamlin’s little trophy wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “It’s perfectly fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gotten to know Nesta and he liked her. Not for her politeness, but her lack of care for them. The way she disregards every strict social code he was used to from everyone around him, constantly keeping him on his toes. This, seeing her in person, was simply another aspect of her life. One that he was more than excited to learn about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomas, I--” Her words were cut off, and his anger turned to rage. Rage that he forced to settle down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta could date and talk to whoever she wanted. Even if that someone was a registered sex offender. Information that Nesta could very easily search up herself. But he couldn’t blame her for that. For loving someone. All he knew was that he’d be there when he hurt her. He would make sure that, if she asked, Tomas would go away to prison for far longer than the measly years he’d already served.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She sighed, defeated. Not at all the annoyed sigh he could’ve always pictured perfectly despite never hearing her voice. “Fine. I’ll be home in thirty minutes.” A pause. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not home.” Another pause. “I’m with my sister.” She stifled yet another sigh. “No, you can’t call her. She’s busy. Yes, working. What else would she be doing?” A pause. “Goodbye, Tomas, I’ll see you at my place.” She didn’t give that bastard any more time to respond. She pulled the phone away from her face, hung up, and threw it into her purse.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Threw </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Like it was a godsdamned football or something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta looked at Feyre, completely ignoring him. “I have to go home. Tomas wants to see me for his lunch break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre’s face fell in disappointment and Cassian told himself that was the reason why he said what he did next. “Thirty minutes is quite a long time. Can’t you stay here with your sister for a bit? Finish your coffee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta looked at him and blinked slowly as if he just grew two heads. The moment passed for a pulse too long before she said evenly, without even a flicker of emotion, “Unlike everyone else in this damned building, I don’t live downtown. It’ll take me twenty minutes just to get out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cassian felt a pang of pity for not remembering. With the lunch-rush traffic, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> take twenty minutes to get out of downtown, depending on where she parked. And knowing this area, it was probably that stupidly expensive place a few blocks down. If he didn’t know her, even in the little bit that he did, he would’ve offered to give her some money. But he knew her pride wouldn’t allow it. He knew many people with the same type of stubborn pride.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre stepped forward, opening her mouth as if she’d say something to stop Nesta, to ask her to stay, but she ended up closing her mouth. Nesta turned around and took a few steps away. Then she paused and looked back to Feyre. Emotions warred across her face, going too fast for him to read.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Call me or text me or something if you want to do anything,” Nesta said. She added, despite the way her voice thickened, “Or if you need help. I’m still your older sister, even if you’re getting married.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feyre merely nodded and watched as Nesta turned back around and made her way out of the cafe, as regal and dangerous as any businesswoman. Cassian, on the other hand, could only think about all the ways he’d tease her about today.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Honestly, I wasn't planning on posting this chapter for another two days, but I just felt like posting it today. Because, why not. I like appeasing the masses. And I'm also just really hyped for the Nessian novel even though it's not going to come out for like forever. It's 5 am, too. And, thankfully, it's quite cool outside and I've been dying from the heat for the last week, so... It's a good day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Twelve</h2>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta stared at her phone and contemplated throwing it across the room. The caller ID lighting up the screen was the last thing she’d wanted to see today after everything that had happened yesterday. Maybe she really should’ve blocked his number like she’d wanted to. But even when she had tried yesterday after Tomas had left, she couldn’t seem to have pressed that final button. That didn’t mean she wanted to talk to him, though. Not right now. Least of all through a phone call. That required far too much effort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hating herself already for the decision, she answered the call and held the phone up to her ear, though she didn’t say anything. Let him believe she wasn’t there. Then she could go back to watching shitty daytime television.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you still out of a job?” he asked instantly, giving her no time to speak even if she had wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She internally groaned, sinking further under the blankets wrapped around her shoulders. If only the couch would swallow her whole and pull her into a world where Cassian didn’t exist. She would be eternally thankful. Because behind his voice, she heard people chatting to each other. The pound of feet against the treadmill. The clinking of weights. He really had to broadcast that to everyone? Something that she hadn’t shared with anyone else? To all those gym rats?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she managed through gritted teeth.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While she didn’t miss her job at that overly-busy cafe full of obnoxious teenagers and old women who thought the world revolved around them, she did miss the extra cash. The cash that she sorely needed right now; she was aching for a bottle of wine and a new book to settle down with. She would rather wait to buy her own book than have to borrow it from the library. If that meant she didn’t read for a month because she didn’t have the money, then so be it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have any experience running a social media account?” he asked, the sound of voices pitching behind him. Nesta really wanted to throttle him right now. Instead of going away from the people, he was going </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. The bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sort of.” She had an idea of where this was going, and she wasn’t going to miss out on a chance like this just because of her wounded pride. None of them knew who she was, anyway. It would be fine. “On what platform?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, the usual: Twitter, Instagram. So, do you know how to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Nesta said. She didn’t actually know much about twitter, but she wasn’t going to say that. She needed a job, and if he had one for her, she would push aside any personal feelings and take it. Just like she faked getting into her job at the library, saying that she had previous experiences in organization and using their sorting systems. And she was doing just fine with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You say that like it’s obvious.” Nesta didn’t say anything, even though she knew he wanted her to. If this was an interview, she was going to act like it was one. “Well, as you probably suspect, I have a job for you: manage my company’s social media. You make your own hours as long as you make the scheduled posts. Everything you like in a job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta squeezed the phone in her hand and sank so far down in the couch that she thought she would fall right off it. She couldn’t tell if the idea of him paying so much attention to what she said was angering or exciting. Both, probably, if she were being honest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, will you take the job?” he asked, something hopeful lacing his words. The sound of voices grew, followed by the clicking of a door. Locking him inside a room with loud, chattering people. He really had to keep making this worse, didn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you need to see my résumé?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” He sat down and someone in the room with him—a woman—laughed. Nesta had no idea if she was laughing at Cassian or at something someone else had said. “I suppose that would be the smart thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waited for him to continue as she pushed herself back up into a sitting position. The blanket that had been covering her now lay pooled by her feet on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you in bed?” he asked, and this time she actually groaned. She pushed to her feet and gathered the blanket, tossing it back onto the couch. She started making her way across the room toward the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> All conversation in the room had paused. He didn’t reply for a couple of seconds. “All right.” The woman chuckled again, followed by a low hissed reprimand from someone else in the room which only made her laugh harder. “I’ll send you my email, and I’ll call you when you get the job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really shouldn’t be that sure you’ll hire me,” Nesta said, picking her way across her kitchen. She put dishes in the sink; took a cup from the cupboard. “You could see my résumé and decide that I’d be better off sweeping the floor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, knowing who your father and sister is, I highly doubt that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta opened her mouth to respond—what, she didn’t know—but the woman whispered so loud it was hardly a whisper, “It’s wrong number girl.” She raised her voice, no doubt so that Nesta could hear. “The only person he’s ever drunk texted. I hope he said sorry!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Cassian grumbled, suddenly quiet. Nesta couldn’t help her snort as she grabbed the water filter from the fridge and poured some water into the glass. “And now she’s laughing at me.” An exaggeration, but fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Serves you right!” the other man in the room chimed in. Nesta struggled to keep her smile down, but the thought that they couldn’t see it only made it harder to control. So she let herself smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in what felt like forever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That thought made her smile vanish. She left her glass on the counter and took a few steps away, though it was a useless, stupid action. He was on the phone. The phone that was held up to her ear. Stepping away did nothing if she didn’t set the phone down or hang up first. But she couldn’t make herself pull the phone away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomas never made her smile. At first he had. When they just started dating, he made her feel like the centre of his world. Like, for once, she was someone’s first choice. She had never been anyone’s first choice. Not even her mother’s before cancer had taken her life. Elain had been Mother’s favourite. Soft and gentle and perfect. Never crying. Never causing any trouble that Nesta couldn’t be blamed for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it wasn’t Elain’s fault. Nothing was. She didn’t have a bad bone in her body. One time, she even called Nesta to come over and squash a spider that kept tormenting her. Though she rarely answered any of Nesta’s texts. Just like Feyre.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomas wasn’t even really answering her texts anymore. Most of the time he did, but only when it was convenient. Then he called her and came over to her apartment and made her feel like she was someone’s first again. When that happens, all thoughts that she’d had previously about how he might not be the best always dissolved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Cassian… He always responded to her texts. Sometimes it took a few hours, but most of the time it only took a few minutes. She knew that she wasn’t his first, but she also knew that didn’t mean she was worth any less of his time. He’d proved that, over and over. And now he was trying to give her a job when he really didn’t have to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were people far more qualified than her. Yet he still chose her. He would’ve hired her without seeing a résumé, for gods’ sake. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend how much that notion alone meant to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to you later,” she said then hung up, giving him no time to say anything back. She needed time to figure out what the fuck was happening with her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Fourteen</h2><p> </p><p>Nesta woke up at 10 a.m. to a voicemail from Cassian. For a moment she was tempted to roll over, pull the blankets over her head, and sleep for another hour. But he might be her new boss soon and she’d already been asleep for nine hours, so it would be pointless to sleep any longer.</p><p>She sat up and grabbed her phone, selecting the voicemail and waited until it played, absently running her hand through her knotted hair. “Nesta,” he started, his voice strangely professional, “I looked over your résumé and I really liked what I saw. As soon as you’re ready to come in, sign some papers and get all your starting information, give me a call.” A beep sounded, notifying her that it was done. </p><p>Somehow, professional Cassian annoyed her. She didn’t know what it was, but it ticked her off. She preferred him acting like they were the closest of friends and not… whatever this was. It was strange. And not the good kind that made her more interested. The bad kind that made her want to shy away.</p><p>Nesta climbed out of bed and tossed her phone onto the blankets, sending up a prayer that it didn’t somehow get lost. That was the last thing she needed today. </p><p>She jumped into the shower and then put on a little bit of makeup as she thought about what to do with her hair. It was too short to braid into some elaborate up-do and too long to do anything that didn’t take at least an hour. So she settled with doing absolutely nothing with it, because she wasn’t trying to impress anyone and it just felt like too much work.</p><p>By the time she was dressed and had text—not called—Cassian, telling him she was ready to sign some papers or whatever else he needed it was eleven-thirty. He sent over the address to his gym the next moment, and she couldn’t help her laugh when she searched it up on Google and flicked through the pictures. </p><p>It was one of the most cliché Instagram-model, high-class gyms ever. The reception desk was made of marble and everything was a shade of grey or white or black. The only bit of life was the plants and touches of green scattered around. Though, somehow, that still felt sterile. Maybe her impression would change when she went there, but she doubted it. She did have to admit that the prices were very reasonable considering its location and the undoubtedly overly-rich clientele. Even the self-defense lessons Cassian had said he offered were cheap. It was no wonder his gym was so popular.</p><p>Nesta allowed herself to skim through the pictures for another minute before she made herself put her phone away and get into her car. She entered the address into her car’s gps and was even more surprised when it showed that the gym was placed right on the outskirts of downtown. Probably to cater to those who lived in both downtown and everywhere else. Which also meant that she wouldn’t have to go through all the downtown traffic nor would she have to pay a crazy amount for parking.</p><p>Her favourite coffee place was even on the way there. It seemed today was going far better than she thought.</p><p>There was, blessedly, very little traffic. She got to her favourite coffee place and bought an iced coffee that, too, was blessedly cheap. Then it was only another five minutes until she got to the gym and found parking in the actual parking lot in front of it.</p><p>There was a constant stream of people going in and coming out. Some wore workout clothes, others wore business suits and looked like they’d used one of the showers that was undoubtedly in there somewhere. She still felt out of place, camping here in her car, but not as much as she had back in that cafe. That had been tortuous.</p><p>Nesta sighed and turned off her car. She got out, locked her car, then started toward the building. She took every step to steel herself. She would not allow herself to feel intimidated. Least of all by Cassian and his…</p><p>No word could properly finish that sentence. <em> Idiotiocy, narcissism, unprofessionalism. </em>She supposed all of those could be applied, but none of them did him justice. She doubted any string of words would.</p><p>A scowl was already on her lips as she grabbed the door and pulled it open. The sound of <em> people </em> greeted her. The loud sound of chatting. The cacophony of equipment being used. The stink of sweat swirling in the air, only momentarily covered up by the scent of lavender and other nameless plants. </p><p>This place certainly looked like it was owned and run by a woman, not the most manliest-man she’d ever met. </p><p>The rug in the entrance, as the pictures had depicted, was a vibrant green. Free of any stains or marks, like it was often cleaned. A wide array of plants sat along the high edge of the secretary’s desk, all in neat, white pots. There were at least five televisions, set up all along the wall by the treadmills and many other cardio machines that she didn’t know the name to. All of them played a different channel, though they were thankfully muted. There was music. A light, soft trilling playing over the speakers. A sound better fitting a spa than a gym.</p><p>She had no idea what the hell she’d just walked into. What alternate universe she had stumbled across. No matter the case, she didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary, and the lack of a secretary was certainly putting a damper on that plan.</p><p>She stepped up to the secretary desk and pulled off her sunglasses. The first thing she felt was a rush of insecurity, even though no one was looking at her. The logical side of her brain told her that she was fine. That she was here for a reason. That she had a right to stand there. But the other, more sensitive side of her nagged at her. Whispered things she didn’t want to hear. That she wasn’t supposed to be here. That she’d never fit in with the sort of clientele he sought out.</p><p>Yet he was the one that had hired her. He thought that she deserved to work for a place like this, even if it was just as a social media manager. A job that would very rarely bring her here, if at all. </p><p>She just had to sign the papers, get the information she needed to get started, then head home. Or head to the bookstore and spend the last bit of spending money she had on that one book she’d been looking forward to buying for weeks now.</p><p>“It’s a fine morning, no?” </p><p>Nesta blinked over at the woman who’d sidled up beside her. Something in her voice rang bells of recognition, but she didn’t care enough to search her memory for who she might be. Especially when she wore a simple yet classy red dress that did little to hide the shape of her body. That alone wouldn’t be anything of notice, but the expensive, shimmering stones hanging around her neck was. As was the glimmering bracelets on her wrists. Her hair was done in curls that looked effortless but had to be anything but. And her makeup—the <em> makeup </em>.</p><p>For someone who had to be gorgeous to begin with, the makeup made her look devastatingly beautiful. Nesta supposed that, as a business woman in a world ruled by men, that probably helped her in certain areas. Granted her a little give when it came to breaking gender roles. If it weren’t for the beaming, mischievous smile on her lips, Nesta might’ve admired her for it.</p><p>“If you’re waiting for Cassian, I can go get him. He’s probably off ogling at his muscles or something,” the woman said, and Nesta finally realized why she recognized her voice: She was one of Cassian’s friends.</p><p>High-class business execs. One of them right here, right now. Somehow, she didn’t look out of place. But that was probably because she had designed some of it. With the way she looked at everything with a critical eye, Nesta had no doubt that she did.</p><p>Nesta merely brought her iced coffee up to her lips and drank from the straw, all without taking her eyes away from the woman. She didn’t seem, even in the slightest, deterred. </p><p>“I’ll go get him,” the woman said and stepped away without another glance back. She moved effortlessly across the floor, graceful on her black high heels. She swiftly disappeared into a back room, the only marking on it the “Staff Only” sign. Even the sign had an aura of femininity to it, with its clean white background and black accents. It was a wonder Cassian even tolerated any of it.</p><p>Nesta took another sip of her coffee as she waited for Cassian to come out. She just wanted to sign these papers and get out of here. Not stand around all day.</p><p>The door opened and instead of Cassian, it was the woman again. This time, she had sunglasses resting on the top of her head and a tan leather purse hanging in the crook of her arm. As she got closer, Nesta realized that they were both Gucci. That had to be a good eight-thousand dollars right there. Not to mention how much the jewelry, dress, and shoes were. </p><p>The woman came up to Nesta, the resting smile that had been on her lips turning wider; brighter. “He’ll be here in a moment. He’s just gathering the papers.” She cast a glance around, her eyes narrowing on the empty secretary desk. “Is there anything I can get for you while you wait? Water? Uh, more water?” She turned back to Nesta, that smile still on her lips.</p><p>Nesta took in a deep breath to try and muster up enough courage to speak. To not feel like she was completely out of place talking to this very, very rich-looking woman.</p><p>“You aren’t the secretary. I’m sure you have better things to do.”</p><p>The woman pursed her lips, but that smile pushed through. “No. To both of those statements. Honestly, I’m just stalling because as soon as I leave this place I have to go to work. And work is full of idiots.” She lowered her voice into a whisper, “Most of them, at least. Some of those people aren’t half-bad.”</p><p>The staff door opened and—Cassian came out. The woman glanced over her shoulder and waved at him. She slid her sunglasses down and <em> strutted </em> out of the gym. She then climbed into the back of a black, tinted-windowed SUV. Nesta watched as it drove off, taking the moment to take a steeling sip of coffee, now wishing that there was alcohol in it. She was <em> not </em> ready to face Cassian, but she had no choice but to.</p><p>With a sigh, Nesta turned back around. Her eyes fell onto Cassian, and she instantly wanted to melt into the floor and hide away from the heat that pooled in her gut.</p><p>He looked… good. More than good, in his gray suit. It accentuated the muscles in his arms and brought attention to his six-pack that she could scarcely see through the tightness of his white dress shirt. Then there was his legs. His <em> legs. </em> She never thought that legs could have that much muscles or look so damned good.</p><p>Nesta rolled her eyes, just so that she didn’t have to look at him anymore. He was her boss, she could <em> not </em> think about him in that way. And <em> shit </em>. She also had a boyfriend. She had almost forgotten about him. Though, to be fair, they hadn’t talked to each for two days. He was bound to slip her mind. But she had also remembered him. And that’s all that mattered. She wouldn’t let that happen again.</p><p>Clearing her mind from any thoughts that didn’t involve Tomas or signing these papers, she looked back to Cassian. She didn’t even have to make herself scowl when she saw the infuriating smirk on his lips.</p><p>“Thinking about me?” he teased, stepping up behind the desk. He dropped the thin leaflet of papers onto the marble desk. Then he had to go the extra stretch and brace his arms against them, folding his hands on top of the paper so that she couldn’t grab it even if she wanted. <em> That bastard </em>.</p><p>“I’m standing in your gym, about to sign papers that you handed me, of course I’m thinking about you.” </p><p>Cassian’s smirk grew even wider, like her words had been a challenge. And maybe, in a way, they were. A challenge for herself. To forget about where her mind had gone moments ago. Which was nearly impossible with the way he stared down at her. All of his attention pinned onto her. The way the fabric tightened around his biceps did absolutely nothing to help that.</p><p>He smirked even wider, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head. She really, really hated him.</p><p>“Are you going to let me sign that paper or not?” she asked, taking a slow step forward.</p><p>Cassian’s eyebrows rose as he straightened, removing his arms from the desk. He reached over and plucked a pen from a glass holder. A <em> glass holder </em> for a <em> pen </em>. For gods’ sake. There couldn’t be one normal thing? She noticed, as he held out the pen for her, that the gym’s name and number was engraved into the side in a classy silver.</p><p>“Who designed this place, anyway?” Nesta asked, grabbing the pen and stepping up to the desk so that she could look over the paper. She ignored the way Cassian stared at her and instead focused on reading through the document.</p><p>It was full of legal jargon that she had learned to understand from getting dragged into jobs that took advantage of her so that she could protect Elain from the same fate. She knew all the fancy words and sayings that could quickly devolve into an endless loophole. What was bravado to intimidate her and what was genuine information and codes. And thankfully, this form skipped through most of the bravado and stupid loopholes and went straight for the actual information.</p><p>“Morrigan. That woman that was just here,” he said, his smirk changing into a small smile fueled by faint amusement. Of course, hardly anyone looked this close to the contracts they were signing, but she wasn’t stupid. “I wanted to hire a professional designer, but she sort of… took over, if you can’t tell.”</p><p>“Oh, I can tell.” She didn’t mean for it to come out so sharply. She hated herself for the way it sounded. But she couldn’t help it. Her words just came out like that when she was busy doing something else. She could only hope that he didn’t take that as her being mean to her boss. She might’ve been a bit brash at times, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t risk a job, or the money that came with it, like that.</p><p>She stifled an annoyed sigh; at herself, at the world. Then she signed and initialed on every dotted line, making sure she didn’t miss anything. She’d rather not have to come back here if she could help it.</p><p>“I’ll send you an email with all the sign-in information for the different accounts and your first assignment,” he went on, as if she hadn’t just been snarky with him. “Any questions?”</p><p>Nesta looked up at him and blinked. She held up the pen. “Even this is feminine,” she said, not quite sure where she was going with it. All she knew was that she had to make sure he knew she hadn’t been rude. For some reason, she had to. She slipped it back into its holder, taking a sip of her iced coffee. Making him wait for her to continue. “No man could’ve picked it out.”</p><p>He laughed at that. Short, but very much there. He ducked his head and pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking. “You got me there, sweetheart.”</p><p>Nesta stared at him. And stared. And stared. He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows, as if prompting her to do something. Throw her drink, swear at him, turn around and refuse to work with him and stomp out. Honestly, all of those seemed like good ideas. Especially if she did all three. And she was tempted. Very, very, very tempted. She might just do it if that stupid smile kept spreading across his lips.</p><p>“I’m going to make this a living hell for you,” Nesta said instead. That only made him smile wider. He looked over Nesta’s shoulder, that smile widening even more, and she groaned. There was someone standing there, and she did not want to see who it was. At least her promise had been heard by more than just one person.</p><p>Nesta turned around and blinked at the man standing there. She stared at him and he stared right back. </p><p>He had to be the most objectively handsome person that she’d ever seen. He had short messy black hair and the deepest, most vibrant blue eyes. They looked almost violet. Then he <em> grinned </em>at her, like he already knew all of her secrets. </p><p>He took a step forward and extended his hand, shoving the other one into his pocket. “You must be Nesta, Feyre’s older sister.”</p><p>Nesta looked between his hand and his face. She started to connect the dots of the very tangled web that Cassian had introduced her to. “And you must be her good friend.” His eyebrows raised slightly in amusement but he didn’t lower his hand. She looked back down at his hand.</p><p>Before she could properly think it through, she extended her hand and shoved her empty iced coffee cup into his hand. This time, it was his turn to look confusedly at his hand. “You’re in my way,” she said simply and pushed past him. As the door slowly shut behind her, she could’ve sworn she heard Cassian laughing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (12:53) That was golden. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:53) The best thing I’ve seen in years. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:53) I’d hire you just to stand there and greet all my friends like that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:55) You have no idea how perfect that was. </em>
</p><p>(12:59) I didn’t burn any bridges with your fancy business man friend there?</p><p>
  <em> (13:00) No </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:00) You did the opposite. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:00) He’s now tempted to hang out at the gym more often just to see if he’ll run into you again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:02) I wish I got that on camera. </em>
</p><p>(13:03) Shouldn’t you have security cameras?</p><p>
  <em> (13:04) Oh yes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:04) I do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:04) I’m going to get that video and share it to every one of my friends. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (13:05) You’ll be royalty, my dear. </em>
</p><p>(13:07) That’s the least I deserve for putting up with you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Emotional manipulation/abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Eighteen</h2>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta had no idea what she was doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cassian said that for as long as she was employed by him, she had complete access to his gym. She got a membership without having to pay. And she really did want to exercise. She needed to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her body. It seemed that the job at the cafe had been her sort of exercise. She was constantly in motion, never still. Now that was gone from her life… she didn’t really know what to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gym in her apartment, while free, was definitely not a place she wanted to go. It was full of leering assholes who scared the shit out of her. Plus, she didn’t have enough money to get a membership elsewhere and running outside just wasn’t her thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, she wondered what the hell she was doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she wanted to exercise, she could just go to the mall and wander around. Look at things that she knew she could never buy. Maybe try on a dress or two, gawk at her reflection, then act as if she’d forgotten her debit car at home and couldn’t buy them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she’d already made the drive here and she had to ask Cassian some questions, anyway. Might as well do it in person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta shut off her car and climbed out of it. There was no going back now. She was already up. Her car was already locked. And she was already halfway across the parking lot. People would think she was a fool if she turned around. More of a fool than she already was for going here in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only realized how much of a fool she was when she pulled the door open and saw Cassian staring right at her from behind the reception desk. Instead of faltering and turning around, Nesta pushed forward across the insanely clean reception area.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, you’re here,” Cassian said. Nesta’s lips pulled down, but that didn’t deter him. He stood up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>grinned</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her. Like he was a feral animal or something. “There’s something I wanted to show you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestured to the desk and whatever was on it that she couldn’t see from over the high lip of the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you just expecting me to show up one day?” Nesta asked, allowing herself to take one more step forward. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in what Cassian had to show her. Even if it was just a stupid pen or something, it showed that he’d at least thought of her enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to show it to her. That was more than she could say about Tomas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I was hoping. Though I was also hoping that one of my friends would be here so you could do whatever magic you did last time. Too bad all of them are working and being productive.” Under his breath, he added, “Those bastards.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta would’ve found it amusing if she wasn’t so adamant on being stubborn. The slight lift at the corner of Cassian’s mouth, more mischievous and taunting than the rest of his smile, made her feel like he knew that. Or maybe he found himself extremely hilarious. Which was just as likely, if not more so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s what she told herself, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come look at this so you can go do whatever you came here to do,” he said. This time he actually waved her over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta let out a strangled sigh through her nose and complied, albeit hesitantly. When she rounded the desk, her eyes landed on the computer screen and the still-life portrayed on it. Of her, in this reception area, four days ago. She was staring down Cassian’s business-man-friend, her shoulders stiff and her chin raised. Somehow, the camera even managed to capture the annoyed gleam in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cassian sat down and clicked the spacebar far too loudly, and the video started. There wasn’t any sound, but she didn’t need it to understand what was happening. She remembered it well enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Video-Nesta took a step forward, shoved the empty iced coffee cup into the man’s outstretched hand before she pushed past, practically storming out of the gym. The door closed slowly, leaving the man standing there. He stared at the cup, blinking slowly. Completely stunned. Then he burst out laughing. And the video ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t know what she’d expected, but laughing wasn’t it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Cassian mimicked, twisting around in the chair to look up at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re wasting my time,” she said, making a sweeping gesture at the clothes she wore: workout leggings and a loose matching tank top. “I came here to workout, not stare at a computer screen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled slowly and gestured to the gym and the few scatterings of people in it. “Have fun, then, Nesta Archeron.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hated him calling her by her full name, though she supposed it was better than the alternative: him using whatever idiotic nickname he’d come up with. She had to admit she had gained some sort of fondness for them, but that didn’t mean she </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. They still made her huff in annoyance or set down her phone for long enough to gather herself so she didn’t say something she’d genuinely regret.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta turned around and stalked off. She felt Cassian’s eyes on her back as she made her way over to the treadmill. Her shoulders were far more tense than they should’ve been when she crouched down and settled her purse near the side of it and draped her loose sweater over it. Just in case someone somehow got close enough to think about stealing from it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t look back over her shoulder at Cassian, no matter how much his eyes itched at her back. She merely got onto the treadmill, pressed start, and let herself get lost in the rhythm of running.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomas always said she was crazy for not listening to music while she ran, that something had to be wrong with her for it, but she didn’t let that bug her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could easily get lost in the pound of her feet on the treadmill. The steady, full breaths drawing deep into her lungs. The warming of her legs and thighs as her muscles stretched back to life after a week or so of little use. It was exhilarating. Here, in this place where she became lost in herself, nothing and no one mattered. Not the other people that streamed in and out of the gym. Not Cassian who she saw reflected in the shiny black plastic of the machine occasionally drifting by behind her, going to and from the staff rooms to the front desk; apparently filling the role of secretary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only thing that could drag her from the trance was the ringing of her phone. And even then, it took a few moments to slowly drag her from it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time she was off the treadmill, panting and gulping down air, the phone was near its final right. She managed to catch it right before it went to voicemail. She hadn’t even gotten enough time to see who was calling her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomas’s voice was harsh and grating enough to make her want to wince. He hadn’t talked to her for a while, so he must need something. Or maybe he just wanted to torment her and make sure that she remembered he was a living being. That she was dating him, out of all the godsdamn people on this planet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> running before you interrupted me,” she said between her panted breaths. She started to catch her breath, soothing them down into something that didn’t sound like she was dying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why do I hear a man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had to be the most immature man she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. If they weren’t already dating, she wouldn’t have given him a moment of her time. But they were together. And they’d gotten together when Nesta had seen him as her saving grace, giving her a distraction from the shit hole that had been her life. Not that it was much better now. At least she’d matured in the last couple of months to realize that he wasn’t actually the perfect dream man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m at a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gym</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tomas, of course you hear a man.” At the mention of Tomas’s name, Cassian looked up from the computer and the document he had open on it. His eyes connected with hers, pinning her down. It almost felt accusatory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomas Madray is a sexual offender. Be careful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She could nearly hear him saying that to her. Mockingly. Degradingly. As if he expected her to be better than that. To be worth more than a man who merely wanted her for her body. At least he wanted her. At least he saw some sort of value in her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though, to be fair, Cassian saw value enough in her to hire her and keep her on the job, even after she’d completed her first assignment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta snapped her eyes away from his and turned around so she was facing the wall. She didn’t want to see him or the worry shining in his eyes. All she wanted to do was get this phone call over with so that she could move on to the other aspects of her exercise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t afford going to a gym, Nes. Don’t lie to me,” he went on as if she would be afraid of him without question. And in a way, she was. But with Cassian behind her, his eyes attached to her, she felt confidence seep into her. Tomas couldn’t hurt her as long as she was here. He didn’t even know where </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, so he couldn’t touch her. “If you tell me the truth, we can figure out how to fix this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta knew what he thought she was doing. She wouldn’t cheat. And even if she did, she doubted that simply confessing to it and asking for mercy would satisfy him. He’d probably ask her to marry him as an apology. Like he was some old-fashioned gentleman saving his lady-friend from ruin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to fix, because nothing happened.” Her voice tightened with anger; she was on her last straw. She didn’t want to have to deal with him anymore. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>at a gym</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re an idiot and beyond insecure if you think any different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s the insecure one now?” he growled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Growled. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Pushing blame onto me when you’re the one cheating!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta dropped her chin to her chest and stifled an angered sigh. He was an absolute blubbering idiot. He was trying to control her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> controlled her, and he was a complete buffoon if he thought he could. She wasn’t his pretty little girlfriend and she never had been, so she had no idea what gave him the idea that she would comply with any false accusations he pushed onto her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m done, Tomas. I don’t want to deal with your bullshit anymore. Don’t even try to call or text me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nesta, I’m sor--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hung up before he could finish with that crap apology. He deserved it. Let him pace around his room and cry and whine about losing her. Let him try to get her to go back to him. Lure her like she was some sort of puppy to be baited back with a tasty treat. There was nothing he could offer that would make him enticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Cassian asked. He had somehow gotten up behind her without her noticing. And now he was mocking her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could almost see him saying: “I told you so.” Over and over again. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> warned her. He’d told her that Tomas was a shit person with a shit history, yet she hadn’t listened. She’d been blind to Tomas and his true intentions, though she still wasn’t quite sure what it was. Her body? Surely that was the only thing that he could’ve found enticing because she certainly wasn’t the docile, moldable woman that his type liked and fawned after.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nesta slid her phone into her purse and shrugged on her sweater, despite her hot and sweaty skin. She turned around and walked past Cassian all without raising her eyes from the ground. She didn’t want to see his expression or the smug grin he undoubtedly had on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those who are interested, which I'm sure not a lot of you are, I'm currently worldbuilding and (trying to) plot a long multi-book fantasy series. And because of this, I'm learning a lot more about writing and pacing and all that fun writing stuff. I've read some of my old fanfics which I've also "pantsed" (not outlined) and I've realized that the difference between chapters is a bit... jarring. It can go from slow-paced and character-focused to fast-paced and plot-focused. So, as of right now, I'm working on smoothing out that difference out so my work isn't so hard to read and it's more engaging for the audience. With that being said, this story isn't going to be a masterpiece. I honestly started writing it just because I wanted to have something fun and easy to write. I'm not going to put hours into editing it or making sure the plot makes 100% sense. I hope that doesn't deter any of you from reading further, but I completely understand if it does.</p>
<p>P.S. I'm dreading posting the next chapter because if I don't post it then nothing happens to Nesta. (Yes, I understand how cruel I'm being by saying this. But this time that I'm giving you to prepare yourself is a mercy.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Sexual assault</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Day Twenty-Two</h2><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ever since Nesta had broken up with Tomas, he hadn’t left her alone. Instead of his few-word texts he would send every couple of days, he sent non-stop messages. Ones that were paragraphs-long. He begged her to come back to him. He pleaded with her. She’d never seen him so desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared down at her phone as she perched on the edge of her bathtub. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, full of tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that he was a bastard. She knew she shouldn’t give him even a second of her time. But she couldn’t help but think: what if he’s the only person that would want her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a good day, Nesta was difficult. On a bad day, she was a living nightmare. Tomas had been the only person to ever tolerate that, even if he called her a cry-baby and bitch afterward. He hadn’t left her for it. He would probably even marry her if she gave him the chance to. She couldn’t say the same of her other boyfriends or one-night-stands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another part of her told her that if no one ended up wanting to date her or marry her for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then they didn’t deserve her. She was strong and confident, and if a man couldn’t handle that, then they didn’t have the right to be near her. They didn’t have a right to her body or her mind. Least of all Tomas who never asked her out for an actual date and only crawled into her bed when he wanted to feel something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta shut her phone off and stood up. She walked out of her bathroom and made her way into her bedroom. She tossed her phone onto her bed and dropped the towel onto the floor where it crumpled near the foot of the bed, exchanging it for a robe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky was a faint veil of dark blue illuminated by the stars freckling the sky, hardly visible because of all the light pollution that the city created. Rain pattered against the window and wind whistled through the small cracks in the edges where they didn’t seal properly. It was a horrendous sound, but she didn’t care about it enough to call her landlord and ask for it to be fixed. She doubted they would, anyway, since the building was so old and her rent was so low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock at the door of her apartment dragged her from the melancholy vision of the rain-drenched streets stretching far below her window. She exited her bedroom and got to the front door. She opened the door, ready to scowl at whoever dared to disturb her at such a late hour, but everything fell still when she saw Tomas standing there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to leave me alone.” Nesta’s voice trembled with nervousness that she wasn’t even aware she’d had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even wait to see if she would let him in. He merely looked over her shoulder and started walking in, expecting her to move aside. And, of course, she moved aside. She didn’t want him running into her or pushing her so that he could get inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta closed the door, not knowing what else to do, but she didn’t lock it. She didn’t know what she was hoping for. Maybe she hoped that someone would barge in and make him leave. Maybe a robber would come in and give Nesta a reason to call the police. She could claim that Tomas was part of the breaking-in party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Nes. Come sit down.” His voice was cloyingly soft. It was so unbelievably fake, but she couldn’t help the way it soothed her. But then, a moment later, she remembered how much of a bastard he was, and all of that soothing turned into seething anger. “Let’s talk,” he added, impossibly softer. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta made herself turn around and join him on the couch. She sat as far away from him as possible, but he inched closer to her and took her hand in his. Bile rose in her throat and she itched to pull her hand away. She wanted this to be over with. She just wanted him to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me.” She didn’t. She stared at their hands, his laying overtop hers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The roughness of his voice made her look up at him. “You made a mistake, and that’s all right. We can fix it right now. Let’s just forget that anything happened. Let’s go back to just you and me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta swallowed and he gave her hand a squeeze, as if trying to convince her that it had been her mistake. That she was sorry. That this should be fixed. And that they could forget everything that happened. It would be so easy to just give in and let him make it better, but she’d made her decision four days ago. She was done with him. He didn’t deserve to be around her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> deserved better from her relationships. She didn’t deserve this… manipulation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to leave me alone, Tomas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta pulled her hand away from him and his eyes shuttered. When they opened again, she no longer saw the man that had been her boyfriend. His lips pinched with anger. Such ugly anger that made an unexplainable amount of terror and disgust to rise in her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” His voice was just as putried as his facial expression. “You’re my girlfriend. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to leave,” she managed to get out, rising from the couch. He stood and for the first time, the couple of inches of height he had on her made her feel far smaller than him. She felt vulnerable and defenseless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m giving you one more chance, Nesta.” His voice edged something dangerous. Something that made her scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a step backward, and he lunged for her. He gripped onto her wrist and tugged her toward him, snaking his arm around her waist to keep her in place. Everything slowed down as she started thrashing against his hold. Her breaths turned fast and pained. She could see every twist and pinch of Tomas’s face as it switched through disgust and delight in flashes so fast that she could hardly comprehend them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to pull away from him; to hit him or kick him or do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get him away from her. He held her tight, giving her no breathing room. His body was hard and unforgiving against her. The clothes between them felt too thin, her robe too flimsy. She could hardly breathe. Hardly </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her skin turned clammy and tears sprouted in her eyes. His hand started travelling lower, as if he had a right to touch her, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>screamed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her throat ripped open and she screamed as if her life depended on it. It startled him enough that she was able to jerk away and she hit him as hard as she could in his shoulder. He faltered back a step, his eyes going wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he snarled, frantic. He glanced around the room and the paper-thin walls between her apartment and the one next to hers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up you bitch.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She screamed once more, loud and rattling enough to make her own ears hurt. Tomas laughed, low and crazed, and took a few steps back. He held his hands up in surrender, shaking his head slowly. As if he was disappointed in her for not wanting to be touched like that. As if he expected her to actually enjoy it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He sighed, sounding devastated. “I’ll come back as soon as you’re ready to stop acting like such a child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, he turned around and left. Leaving no sign that he’d been here in the first place. There wasn’t even a single item out of place, as if he’d never been. As if that moment had never happened despite how fresh and painful its memory was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hot tears welled and spilled over her cheeks silently while shame burned hot throughout her whole body. She could still feel where his hands had been. Around her waist, on her wrist. Full of so much possession and righteousness that it made her physically sick. She thought she would vomit if she had to stay here any longer. If she had to face what had happened. It would be far easier to simply push the memory away. Hide it. Just like she did with every other not-so-good memory she had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta sniffled and held her hand up to her face to wipe away the tears and cover her shaking mouth. She took a few breaths and made her legs comply. Made them carry her across the room and into the bedroom. She found her phone instinctively and dialed a number she never thought she’d ever dial, and held it up to her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He answered on the second ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nesta?” Cassian asked, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobbed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugly and horrible and hiccup-y. She felt embarrassed about it, could feel it blazing on her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop. Her shoulders shook and her breaths heaved. Her throat burned and her eyes stung. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She had no idea crying could hurt so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” he asked through a break in her sobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She forced her breaths to calm and her voice to steady as she said, “Do you still have those empty guestrooms?” The quiver in her voice betrayed her words, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was already digging herself into a hole, so why not go deeper?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course.” There was some rustling in the background and then the television</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>a sound she hadn’t even noticed was there</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>shut off. “Do you want to stay in one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she conceded and squeezed her eyes closed. She opened her eyes a millisecond later, her breaths slightly heavier. Tomas, it seemed, could even taunt her when he was gone. His face was imprinted in her memory and the cruel delight on it as he had touched her against her will. It was beyond disgusting. Beyond horrendous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need me to have someone drive you?” Of course he would have access to that sort of thing. She almost wanted to say yes, but she didn’t want anyone else knowing where she lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Just</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>just give me the address.” She wanted to hit herself for the way she stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassian merely said, “All right. I’ll see you soon, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta didn’t say anything else and hung up. For a long moment, she stood there, staring at her screen and the address to Cassian’s apartment. She didn’t even have it in her to feel anything other than indifference toward the fancy apartment building that the address showed her. She already knew he was filthy rich. It wasn’t a surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed her purse, then realized that she was still in her robe. She couldn’t go out wearing that. Her neighbors would think she was crazy, if they didn’t already think that after hearing all of her screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta rustled through her dresser drawers and stood before her closet, trying to decide what she should wear. In the end, she settled on grey sweatpants and a matching oversized sweater that fell to her mid-thighs. She normally wore the clothes as pajamas, but she wasn’t willing to change into something else or have to pack a set of nightclothes. This was easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed only the necessary things and shoved them into her purse: toothbrush, toothpaste, her phone charger, and a few hair ties. She wouldn’t need anything else, because she’d come right back here in the morning once she’d gotten a good night of sleep and some really good, really strong coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive to Cassian’s went by in a blur. She had to constantly check her rearview mirror to assure herself that Tomas wasn’t sitting in the seat behind her. Thanks to the late hour, the streets were near empty. When Nesta got to Cassian’s apartment building, all she had to do was put the code that Cassian gave her into the intercom and the gates lifted, allowing her into the underground parking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a random unmarked parking spot and climbed out of her car. She barely remembered to lock her car and the sound of the horn made her wince. She jogged to the door leading inside and she pressed the buzzer to Cassian’s apartment. He didn’t even wait to buzz her in. She walked inside and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. She floated through the clean hallways and made her way toward Cassian’s apartment. One of the last doors in the whole hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nesta knocked and Cassian opened the door a moment later. Her mind scarcely catalogued the casual clothes he wore. She didn’t even hear the words that came out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led her up a set of stairs to the second floor of his apartment where a guestroom waited. He gestured to the bathroom, told her where the towels were, let her know that she could have anything in the fridge, and left her to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hardly had enough time to turn the lights off before she tumbled into bed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'M SO SORRY.<br/>SO MUCH HAPPENED.<br/>I WROTE THIS A WHILE AGO AND REREADING THIS WAS PAINFUL.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>